Tag: entertainment

I’m writing about another excellent marriage date night subscription box company: The Modern Love Box. This box was slightly more expensive than the box I previously reviewed, but totally worth it. The creators are a husband/wife team who recognize the importance of introducing novelty and the unexpected into a relationship, given that one of them is a relationship therapist who runs a private practice on the side. Their boxes are designed to promote connection and new experiences between partners via a ready-made date night. All the work is done for you, which is incredibly convenient. Customers can order single boxes centered around different themes, or pay for an annual subscription for boxes to be delivered in quarterly increments.

I chose the “Good Fortune,” box to try out with my husband and had no idea what to expect. To be honest, my expectations were low because I’ve been married for 30 years and was actively working toward a profession in marriage and family therapy before my husband and I were married. In other words, I have had decades of approaching my marriage like a marriage therapist, which includes being constantly on the search for new dating experiences. I often joke with my husband that we have “come to the end of the internet,” because it’s rare to find an idea I haven’t heard before. However, The Modern Love Box offered a genuinely new experience for date night.

The creators thought of everything. They included his and her notebooks to take notes about date night experiences for future reference. Besides questions to encourage discussion, the box included a book about various ways to determine one’s “fortune.” I never would have purchased it on my own nor viewed it as a couple activity; however, it’s presented as an interactive exercise in comparing “fortunes,” which led to new conversations. The exercise was the perfect balance between contemplative and light-hearted.

Another activity we had not done before was writing “wishes,” both for each other and for our marriage together and ceremoniously lighting them on fire to send them upward. Besides offering a new and whimsical experience, sharing the wishes cemented our dyadic commitment by identifying joint hopes for the future. In fact, this is the type of activity I routinely recommend as a relationship therapist.

The creators also included materials to facilitate physical connection. Often, couples can become either hyperfocused or avoidant of the sexual relationship forgetting how much other forms of intimacy can impact the quality of physical connection. From start to finish, the box includes elements designed to create emotional safety, which often leads to greater sexual safety and couple exploration of this important, intimate part of the relationship.

I will definitely be subscribing to The Modern Love Box because I’m confident that the creative team will not disappoint in their quarterly theme-related offerings. This would be a great idea for Valentine’s Day. In fact, the site is offering a discount for last year’s Valentine box.

Overall, it’s apparent that the contents are informed by a relationship therapist and a creative design expert. This company knows what it’s doing as far as promoting positive couple connection. I highly recommend!

My husband and I were recently asked to participate in a Newlywed Game activity with other couples in front of several hundred people at a summer camp for adolescent girls. I feel pressure at events like these because someone always manages to harass me with some version of “OK Mrs. Marriage Therapist Lady—let’s see what you’ve got.” It’s as if my entire professional career hangs in the balance of reading my husband’s mind for answers to 5 questions. In my estimation, the Newlywed Game is just mind reading for dummies, AKA “How to pick a fight with your spouse without even trying.”

On the way up in the car, my husband suggested that we practice. I was feeling good about our matched responses when he pointed out that, “Their questions aren’t going to be this easy—you know they are going to think of obscure questions to ask.” At my agreement, he directed me to “think of some obscure questions.” “Umm…I think by definition obscure questions are….obscured, so….questions we aren’t supposed to be able to figure out,” I responded. “Yeah,” my husband agreed, “but you’re a marriage therapist—so think of some,” which sounded a lot like, “Dance, puppet!” “Again,” I repeated, slower this time, “By definition, obscure questions are…” “Oh never mind,” he cut me off and wondered aloud why I had to be so difficult.

Sure enough, right out of the gate, the first question, to husbands, was, “My wife is a natural born (blank).” “Wow,” I thought, “This is going to be worse than I thought—so many choices—I hope he’s nice.” I quickly wrote “Reader,” crossing my fingers that my husband would recall the many times I had recounted my obsession with the kindergarten book corner.

We were chosen to reveal our answers first. Feeling optimistic, I held up my card simultaneously with my husband’s, which was met with an eruption of laughter. “Oh no,” I asked, “What did you write?” He showed me his card which radiated “LOVER,” in all caps, underlined in bright red ink. I raised my eyebrows and threw up my hands, mouthing “Wha….???” conveying, “Of all the available words in the English language, you really chose the word, ‘lover,’ dripping with a variety of potentially salacious interpretations…in front of the youth?” He whispered, “I was about to write ‘reader,’ but that sounds boring and you’re definitely not boring.” “OK, can you please remember that we are going for accuracy and not scandal?” I entreated.

I was excited that we were in the running for the win when wives were asked, “Name something that your husband is good at that no one else knows about.” I enthusiastically scribbled “Juggling,” with hurried penmanship, desperately attempting to telepathically transmit my answer to my spouse.

As the answers were revealed, a few couples got a match on “Golf.” “Lame,” I judged, “That’s cheating…basically a safe answer that technically doesn’t meet the standards of something ‘other people don’t know about.’” I felt fleetingly virtuous and hopeful about my legitimate response before my complete deflation when the moderator frowned and pronounced our answers a mismatch. I turned toward my husband, “What did you…Waterskiing? Seriously? That’s not something people don’t know about!”

“But can he juggle while waterskiing?” someone heckled.

“Well,” he explained, “I was about to put ‘juggling,’ but then I decided I’m really not good at juggling.” “No,” I argued, “Compared to a professional juggling circus clown you’re not good. Compared to the average population, you’re really good.” He rolled his eyes. “Plus,” I continued, “People know you waterski.” “People don’t know I waterski,” he contested. “Are you kidding me?” I was so confused, “You have two different ski boats in our driveway alternating all summer long depending on your mood for the wake you want to ski that day. I think the cat’s out of the bag…people know you waterski…at least more than know you juggle.” “But I’m not good at juggling,” he repeated, which just increased my frustration. He was focusing on the first part of the question and I was focusing on the last part. “Just stop. We aren’t going to agree on this,” I declared, and he was happy to drop it.

A half hour later when we walked into the camp of our local congregation, the camp cook called out to me, “Hey Lori, the first thing the girls said when they walked into camp is that your husband told everyone you are a natural born lover.” I shot him a “told you so” look and explained our mismatch on the juggling question. “But I’m not good at juggling,” he argued again.

“Watch…be amazed!” I told the group in front of us as I tossed him some oranges. “Let them decide. Juggle,” I ordered, which I’m sure sounded to him like “Juggle, clown!” He was surprisingly cooperative as he smoothly juggled the oranges in the air, occasionally switching up his impromptu routine. “We didn’t know you could juggle,” several people oohed and aahed. “Right,” I made eye contact with him, “You didn’t. That’s exactly my point.” “But I’m not good,” he started in again. “OK…I’ll concede that you should probably keep your day job instead of running away with the circus, but you juggle well…at least well enough. Observe…are they not entertained?” I gestured toward his adoring fans. “OK, you were right. I should have written juggling,” he conceded as I walked away, worn down by the struggle.

This exercise in futility reminded me of my first year of grad school in a marriage and family therapy. We were taught how common and harmful “mind reading,” is in marriage. Spouses frequently assume that they know what their partners are thinking and make judgments based on those assumptions, which then direct their behaviors. We don’t bother to verify because we are so certain we are correct.

Mind reading is also a problem when one spouse expects the other to know what he/she is thinking. A common example starts with the words, “You should have known….” I can confidently report that this tendency is alive and well in the annals of “How can I ruin my marriage today?” It might even be more common than the first type, and is at the core of many an anniversary fail.

In actuality, all of us are natural born mind readers. Social convention requires it. Human interaction is founded upon assessing others in social settings. We naturally decipher non-verbal signals, comparing them to verbals for congruency. Then, we act accordingly. In close personal relationships like marriage, we get so good at reading our partners that we are unwilling to admit when we get it wrong and almost offended when they think differently than we do.

Did you notice what happened when my husband and I disagreed? I tried to persuade him that my thinking was right. He tried to convince me that his thinking was correct. What we didn’t do was get curious about the other’s view and ask for more understanding or even take the time to try to see it from an alternative perspective. Our cognitive biases are so fixed that it requires active intention to consider alternative explanations from our own.

The antidote to mind reading is to ask for understanding and to toy with the idea that someone else’s viewpoint might be valid…and not necessarily threatening to the relationship.

My husband I were both right…sort of…if you understand where we were both coming from. Yes, there are many humans who juggle better than my husband, and yes, there are many people who don’t know he water-skis, and the bottom line is we were both disappointed that we didn’t mind read accurately for the win.

But we will be so prepared to win next time…especially if I can predict all of those obscure questions.

Like this:

March Madness is an annual holiday at my house. My son sent out a family text reminder yesterday to everyone to set up their brackets. My husband has trained all 7 of his children to care about basketball (or die). It has been a source of fun and frustration in my home for years.

When my oldest son was 13, my husband quietly hung a poster-sized photo in his room. The photo was one his own father had taken of him making a shot at a state championship basketball game a few decades earlier. He waited. After several days with no response from my son, my husband asked, “Did I see a picture hanging in your room of an amazing athlete shooting a basket?” My son, unimpressed and teenagery, replied, “I don’t know about that, but there’s a picture of some weirdo wearing basketball shorts that are too short.”

The culture permeates every aspect of family life. In a recent family charades game, my husband picked out a slip of paper and started gesturing wildly, jumping with a hip-contorting sideways motion, arms over his head. Everyone in the room looked confused, except my youngest son, who yelled out, “Larry Bird!” “What the heck? How did you get Larry Bird from that?” I asked. My husband looked surprised that I wouldn’t know. “That’s his shot…he’s famous for it,” he explained, sparing me the word, “OBVIOUSLY!” “Oh….Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes at my future daughter-in-law, “How did I miss that?”

Until my husband tore a ligament in his foot about a decade ago, and was completely grounded for over a year, basketball was his main escape. He was either playing, coaching or watching. I think he had more fun coaching his son’s championship team than winning anything himself, even though I have accused him of trying to relive his glory days’ state championship game through his children. It’s one of the few things he gets intense about.

My son of the championship team walked in the door from a game his father coached, tattling, “Mom, dad got kicked out of the game.” “Really?” I was shocked. My calm husband is not someone who typically gets riled up…unless it involves basketball…and he’s “had it up to here with the horrible calls.” He’s completely okay and understanding with anything his kids do…unless any of them have “an ugly shot,” which is unforgivable. He will say I’m exaggerating. I say, ask his children. Once, when the kids wanted to go see a movie with a Disney actor playing the part of a basketball player, my husband refused, because, “There’s nothing more painful than having to sit and watch an actor who doesn’t know how to play basketball pretend to be a basketball player.”

I should have known. I had a foreshadowing the first time I told him I loved him, 6 months after we met. From a few weeks after we met until March Madness 1987, he was at least weekly declaring his love and intent to marry me, but I had no interest in getting serious. Finally, after a lot of internal struggle, because I liked him but didn’t want a long-term relationship, but couldn’t stand the thought of losing him either, I sat down next to him on the couch in his apartment and haltingly said, “I’ve been thinking a lot…and we have a lot in common….and we want the same things for our future and family…and I guess what I’m trying to say is….I think I love you.” He sat staring straight ahead at the television set, which was broadcasting a very important basketball game. I said, “Hello? Did you hear what I just said?” He glanced at me and gestured toward the TV, “Did you see that dunk?!!” He asked.

“OK, see you later,” I said, standing up to leave. He grabbed my arm, laughing. “Wait. It’s just taking a minute to sink in. You’ve been rejecting me for months. I’m not sure I believe you.” Over the years, “Did you see that dunk?” has become a tagline for one of us to recite if we feel ignored.

I know from marriage therapy experience that I’m not the only wife who is a basketball widow, at least during March. My mother is gone now, but she set a great example for me that I have not taken to heart. When my husband says, “Why can’t you be more like your mother?” he is referring to my mother’s ability to talk sports with him every time we visited. She always knew what was happening in the sports world, and it was rather impressive, especially considering her age. My husband used to sit and talk sports with her like she was one of his buddies.

Except I’m not her.

My mother told me that if she wanted to have a conversation with my father, she needed to be able to sports speak. She read everything she could and paid attention. My father had season tickets to the Dodgers, and it dominated a large part of my childhood. I remember being at the 1977 World Series, heart-broken when Mr. October led the Yankees to victory in our home stadium. Despite the exposure and my mother’s consistent chatter about various players in the news, I never quite adopted her authentic enthusiasm and motivation to be sports literate.

However, I think my mom’s attitude was a great example for marriage. Instead of whining that my father cared more about sports than her, she tried to speak his language. My father loved my mother. He was devastated when she died. He did so many things for her to make her life better, and I’m certain that her willingness to take part in his interests motivated him to meet her more than half way.

In a culture of individualism, I don’t think my mother’s philosophy is very popular. I can imagine a rebuttal, accusing my mother of “losing herself,” for someone else, or the more egregious “forfeiting her identity completely.” However, my mother didn’t lose anything. She gained a trustworthy companion whose joy was her own and vice-versa. She secured an enduring connection with her romantic life-partner.

Maybe this will be the year that I follow my mother’s example and really learn basketball speak. I made a deal with my husband that I will…but only if he brings back the short basketball shorts…along with the Larry Bird move…and a slam dunk.

It’s a small price to pay to see that winning combination…and the look on my son’s face.

Like this:

Late last Friday, my husband and I had a rare free evening at home so we decided to try to watch something on Netflix. I suggested, “What about that series we started last fall that we stopped watching?” and immediately saw an almost imperceptible guilty expression flash across my husband’s face. “You Netflix cheated, didn’t you?” I accused. “I might have,” he confirmed, trying not to laugh. “How could you? When?” I demanded. “While I was spinning,” he admitted. “How much did you watch?” My voice was getting shrill. He looked away and mumbled, “The whole thing.” “You really watched the entire rest of the seasons without me? We were only into the second season!” I was starting to sound like a crazy, desperate person and I knew it, but I really was feeling a little betrayed. “OK Lor, when is the last time you actually stayed awake for anything we started to watch on Netflix? I don’t think you saw one entire episode. I always end up watching it myself with you asleep next to me.”

True. But it was the principle of the thing.

The term Netflix cheating was coined in 2013 after a survey showed that 51% of people admitted that they would watch a Netflix show ahead alone that they had previously agreed to watch with their partners. Many of those reported that they would hide the fact from their partners and would re-watch it with fake emotion to hide it. A smaller percentage said they would feel guilty enough to confess. Netflix has used this information to their marketing advantage, dramatized in this 2014 Commercial.

One company jumped on the bandwagon, suggesting a set of commitment rings that link to a streaming service that won’t allow access to a certain series unless both partners are together. While that sounds extreme, I have seen couples controlling enough to actually want to pay for that kind of service.

Just last month, in an expansion of the clever marketing campaign with the tagline “Watch responsibly,” Netflix released data collected in a recent survey showing that Netflix cheating has tripled since 2013. They have continued the spoof with an ironic Michael Bolton video encouraging partners to apologize for the betrayal. They went so far as to actually create entertaining cheating profiles.

Sharing media with partners has been associated with greater relationship quality and may be particularly important for couples who are separated by geographical distance. According to research, media sharing can be a way that partners develop and maintain a joint identity. Sharing activities deepens interdependence. It’s a way of establishing “we-ness.”

So, why is Netflix cheating even a thing? Why would a partner feel betrayed by a spouse watching ahead? Like everything else in therapy, it’s a triviality that can be representative of something bigger. While Netflix cheating is a tongue-in-cheek phenomenon, there is some truth to the relationship risk of duplicitous watching ahead. As a marriage therapist, it makes perfect sense to me why people would be legitimately upset. If a partner Netflix cheats it can send a message that “You don’t matter to me,” or “I don’t care about sharing this with you.” It dilutes that concept of “we-ness,” and invites uncertainty into the relationship. It makes a partner more unpredictable.

I have to give my husband credit—while he has Netflix cheated before, he has always had the common courtesy to refrain from revealing spoilers. Also, since he falls into the small percentage of cheaters who feel guilty enough to admit it, I should admire his honesty. That being considered, he’s out of town and I have nothing better to do than to watch the next episode or three of our current shared series. He really should have signed that pre-viewing agreement I suggested the other night. In the interim, I have just enough time to perfect my look of surprise.

References:

Let’s stay home and watch TV: The benefits of shared media use for close relationships (2016) by Sarah Gomillion , Shira Gabriel , Kerry Kawakami , and Ariana F. Young, Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, DOI: 10.1177/0265407516660388.